


Tear You Apart

by Delta_Polaris



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: (but only in two endings so there ya go), Blood and Violence, F/M, Gore, Kidnapping, Main character is named, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, also has a vagina, but it's very skippable, cant stop wont stop, listen this is a coping mechanism at this point, mostly gender neutral, multi-ending, yall if youre here youve played the game dont look at the tags you already know whats poppin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delta_Polaris/pseuds/Delta_Polaris
Summary: You're bored, and with no real destination in mind, visit a new bar to kick off your mini stay-cation, only to meet a man who will absolutely tear you--your mind, your resolve, and your future--apart. Strade may have kept you, but how well will you let yourself be kept?Multiple endings, because we need more of that.





	1. Prologue-Fatal Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This work is also posted to my burner tumblr account-- boyfriendedtodeath2.tumblr.com , where I also post my own art of this fic, so go check it out! 
> 
> As another aside, this will be the first fanfic that I have released publicly in....geeze, five years? It's been a hot minute, so bear with any stutters, would you kindly.
> 
> <3 Delta

_What was your fatal mistake?_

 

Was it deciding to apply to a college across the continent for a very niche degree no one thought you should have gotten? Or was it perhaps your inability to actually socialize when you had a goal, when you had homework, when you were anxious of new people in your life?

 

At some point in your sophmore year, you had developed a bit of a drinking habit, one that would lead to your grades dissolving completely, losing the scholarship that had made you take the thousands of miles move to the campus. Again, maybe it was the stress of isolation and the weight of your work on your shoulders, but at the end of the night it felt so nice to just down a six pack in your dorm and lose yourself until your alarm blared to wake you in the morning.

 

Another shock to the system was finding out you had to leave that small, but familiar, dorm at the beginning of the next semester. Something about the scholarship being the main help for your campus payments as well. Heavy-hearted, you dropped sever superfluous classes to grab a secondary job at a cafe off-campus.It was there you met your current roommate; Johanna. She was quiet, like you, with the mixed misfortune of having one of her only relatives pass away, leaving her with a large multi-bedroom house and not a lot of need for it. She didn’t work with you, which you thought was a shame, as she was a full-time student who just really enjoyed a solidly made Flat White. Even When you were home, she was often out at late study sessions, or with her partner doing whatever they got up to in the later hours.

 

Your daily life was pretty evened out at this point; class, work, drink, home, rinse and repeat, ad nauseum. Sophomore and junior years passed in this haze, as you continued your work and drinking schedule through summer break.

 

Tonight was no different as you finished up your shift at the cafe. It had been a slow day, and you were one of the last to leave before the closers came in, so you spent the majority of your time there cleaning the back room, waiting for someone to come in and take at least two minutes of your life while you made them whatever drink or snack suited their fancy.

 

Just as you looked at your watch to see what time it was–6:55pm, to the dot–the bell over the door jingled merrily to announce a customer had entered. You quickly washed your hands clean of grime and slung your apron easily over your head, tying it behind your back as you popped out the back door.

 

“Good evening! What can I get started for you today?” You chirped, surveying your customer across the counter. He was much taller than you were, maybe 5″8? Though as you actually took in the details of his face, it wasn’t as scary as it could have been; his wide smile was warm and disarming, and his eyes were kind, if albeit a weird colour of amber that you hadn’t seen in anyone other than cosplayers. However, he was handsome, with medium length wavy hair, a single lock hanging down his forehead in a charming coil, and nicely tan skin. Your eyes wandered down his slightly stubbly jawline, and back up to his smile as he gave a small chuckle.

 

“Maybe it is you looking for something?” His voice was not too deep, but the accent underneath was interesting, something you couldn’t place, and for a moment you just stared at him in confusion while he continued. 

 

“I only ask, because you were quite intently staring.”

 

“Oh!” _Of course he would notice you staring!_ “I apologize, what can I make for you today, sir?” You knew for a damned fact that your cheeks were pinkening from your slip, ears burning from the embarrassing realization that he was still smiling that little half moon grin at you, eyes twinkling in a way that was both kind and not from under his lashes.

 

“Hmn…How about a twelve ounce dark coffee? No cream, or sugar, please.”  
Relieved to have a reason to turn away from the man and his beguiling eyes, you grabbed a ceramic mug from the rack behind you, easily pumping dark roast (‘straight from the hills of guatemala’ your brain jingled) into the white cup. With movements made secondary nature, you set the cup down on the counter beside the cash register, typing in the four digit code for the drink, adding tax in a few seconds. All the while, the man continued talking to you, something benign about the weather and how it had been raining more than the area was used to. You were sure you had hmned and ahhed enough to keep him talking, more than happy to hear the strange lilting and rumble of his accent.

 

“That’ll be 2.50$, please, unless you wanted anything else? Perhaps a muffin or a scone?” You offered, gesturing to your pastry case, but the man’s eyes stayed on you, and you smiled reflexively. “Gotcha. Cash or card?”

 

Seeming to snap out of his mind, the man let out an apologetic chuckle, fishing around in his pockets until he found a fiver, handing it to you with that same warm smile. “Keep the change, thank you.”

 

“You know,” You teased with a laugh, “They say only sociopaths drink black coffee. Something about the brain and what have you. I don’t get it myself, as I like a nice strong roast, no frills, no sweetener every once in a while myself.” You stuffed the bill in the open register, taking out two bills and change to throw in the tip jar in between the two of you. “It just manages to wake you up, and tastes really nice despite the deep bitterness of the roast.”

 

“Then you get it! This is why I need the coffee,” His tone was jovial as he explains with a gentle shrug of his wide shoulders, his mouth had lost a bit of it’s curve, eyes looking aside. “I have a long night ahead of me, so I need to be top form, you know. Have a good night, miss…?”

 

He looked over your apron, and you realized you may have dropped your nametag while cleaning in the back.

 

“Amelie,” You finished for him. “My name is Amelie.”

 

Just like that, the blinding smile was back on his face. “Have a good night, miss Amelie. Thank you again for the chat. It was nice.”

 

Watching him turn and walk to the corner booth to sit, you found yourself zoning out a little, until you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder roughly. You yelped in response, immediately dropping to your knees in fear to the howling laughter of your coworker Austin. 

 

“Jumpy today, aren’t we?” He kept laughing, holding a hand out to help you up, which you promptly slapped away to his delight as you stood back up. “Man, I’m sorry for scaring you, but you’re free to go, so clock out my dude!”

 

True to his words, you checked your watch: 7pm, which meant you were cleared to begin your favourite part of your daily schedule; the drinking part. You quickly dodged around him, apron already off as he poked his head around the corner. He watched you punch your number into the pad by the door, sliding your time card after the beep with a frown on his face.

 

“You think you’ll visit us plebeians while you’re on vacation?” He asked, crossing his arms over his soap-stained apron, eying you suspiciously, “Or are you gonna just drink yourself into a coma tonight and spend the next six days recovering in the hospital?”

 

You just laughed, slipping into your jacket and grabbing your purse. 

 

“As if! I have a whole seven days to myself!” The two of you emerged from the backroom, your eyes locked on the exit as your ducked under the swinging door that kept the counter separate with practiced ease. You turned back to Austin still eyeing you with a hint of judgement, but it didn’t phase you. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. My roomie is gone with her partner in New York this week, so the worst thing i’ll sprain my ankle on my way back from the liquor store tonight with all the alcohol I’ll be carrying back. Maybe I’ll even go out tonight and be…social!” You pretended to sound scandalized, holding a snort behind one hand while waving goodbye with the other.

 

“See you in a week, you absolute lush!” Austin called back to you as you heard the door shut, and in the corner of the cafe, nestled in between a booth with a few teens sipping lattes and a couple talking quietly, a lone man smiled into the rim of his black coffee.


	2. Chapter One--Bad Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've decided to go out tonight, and explore the bar scene. WIll this end well for you? Of /course/ not.

You made your way through the front door, arms laden with several plastic bags clinking together, shutting it with your foot clumsily. True to your word, you left work to walk a few blocks to the liquor store, buying a myriad of mixers and hard liquors, as well as a few packs of beers. The attendant had carded you, and made small talk about your house party you were throwing as she bagged and scanned the bottles one by one.

 

 _Obviously_ , you lied, and agreed with her, waxing humorous about how many people who would be staying at your house later before paying the bill and awkwardly scooping up your haul and walking home.The rain had picked up again, and you had been grateful for the heavier coat you wore when you originally walked to work, making your way the other eight blocks back to your rented home. 

 

Immediately, your shoes and coat were off, chucked into the foyer, and your had your phone out, already putting on your favourite playlist. You had joked about going out, but something told you it wasn’t a bad idea to go out at least one night, just to prove that you can still talk to people when they weren’t only there to have you make them coffee. Phone sticking jauntilly out of your back pocket, you made quick work of putting away your groceries, leaving out a bottle of wine to pregame before heading out to…wherever it was you were going. You decided to take a quick shower and you snatched the wine off the counter on your way upstairs. You didn’t take too long, just enough to feel clean after a long work day while enjoying wine straight from the bottle to some tunes, before toweling off and padding into your bedroom.

 

It was undeniably bigger than your dorm room, which was uncomfortable to you, at first. You had gotten so used to small, cramped places, the spaciousness used to make you anxious, unable to sleep. Now you looked forward to a week’s staycation in your big bed, eating junk food and watching all the series on Netflix you totally told people you had watched at the cafe to keep up conversations. There was something to be said about the relief one gets knowing that anything that happens from a point onwards was going to be 100% their choice, and you laid on the bed in your towel relishing in it, excitedly planning how your night was gonna go.

 

During the past year on campus, you had taken a few fliers of various clubs and bars that you swore one day you’d take actual friends to, but lo and behold, none had come to bat for you, so you slumped off the bed, going to rummage in your desk for the offending papers. Though you were sure you had grabbed more, you only found three, splaying them on your mattress to try and pick one.

 

The first one was a colourful background with the silhouettes of people club dancing cutting into it, leaving room for the text that read: “THE SNAKE PIT, party all night, just what the doctor ordered!”. Beneath that was the name of who you assumed was the in-house DJ. The second one was, in comparison to the first, comically poor designed. Advertising for a place called “The Braying Mule”, you didn’t have to read further than the text brick that said “CHEAP DRINKS AND QUALITY ENTERTAINMENT”. _**Sold.** _ A passing glance at the third (a jazz club of some sort?) showed it was a little too highbrow for how juvenile you felt, although you weren’t in the mood to go full teeny-bopper and go clubbing alone either: that was just an invitation for you to go home with someone while super drunk and wake up just in time to find clothes and stumble home…No thanks.

 

Your mind made up, you swept the papers back onto you desk on your way to the closet to pick out your outfit. Something nice, but not too flashy. Casual, but cute enough to show people you cared…There! You snatched up a simple black dress, your favourite one that basically looked like a big fitted t shirt, and rummaged through your sock drawer to find some thick tights. It was quick work to slide into the tights–though they felt a little more tight than last time you wore them…maybe it was time to start actually running in the morning like you said you did on your dating profile–and throw the dress over your head. 

 

Analyzing yourself in the mirror, you still felt way too fancy for a place that advertised cheap drinks and was named after a donkey…With a quick look outside your window, you discovered it was, in fact, still raining. You knew what that meant.

 

Diving back into the depths of your closet, you returned triumphant, holding a large bundle of soft green fabric. It was one of your prized winter cardigans, olive green and big, big enough for two drunk girls to share on their way home from a bar, which you knew from experience, and was the perfect thing to make you look like the fashionable hobo you were aiming for.

 

Looking yourself over in the mirror, you deemed the look passable, taking a few seconds to pass your fingers through your hair, and then applying a quick bit of blush to your cheeks and a little bit of mascara as well.

 

You snagged your half-drained wine bottle from the bathroom and went down the stairs two at a time, phone and wallet in the spacious pockets, helping to weigh the oversized sweater down at your sides. Chugging the other half of the bottle, you wondered how cheap cheap meant to the place you were going to, and decided to err on the side of caution as you swung into the kitchen to both throw away the bottle, and snagged a shooter of vodka out of the freezer. Paired with an already opened coke in the fridge, it went down quickly, and you wiped your mouth on your sleeve, as if in punctuation to your time at home.

 

On went a pair of sensible, low heeled boots (You weren’t in the mood for any falls tonight, _no siree bob_ ), and off went the lights as you stepped out into the rain. 

 

Already you felt your spirits lift as you punched in the directions into your phone’s map, delighted to see that it wasn’t too far from your place; in the opposite direction of the cafe, it was relatively the same amount of walking. You took off at a brisk but comfortable walk, embracing the serenity that came with walking alone in the rain at night. The sun had already made its way down the horizon, so you were treated to the sight of the streetlights faded and warped in the distance by the falling rain. Absently you remembered that you left your umbrella back in the foyer, but you weren’t too worried, your hair hadn’t even dried when you left so no one would notice anyway.

 

It was so nice, you were almost disappointed to see the lit sign of the Braying Mule come out of the darkness, but you remembered that you were already starting to feel your buzz, and inside you could get to your favourite level: drunk. So you made your way in and out of the rain.

 

Inside you were greeted with the warmth of a place used to a lot of people; they gathered in groups and clusters at the bar, and around tall circle tables on stools. You felt a pang of anxiety as you looked for a place to sit, but thankfully you found a booth empty near the windows, and you plopped down just as a waitress bustled up to you with a menu.

 

“Anything on your mind to start off with, sug?” The woman was in her late forties, with an adorable southern accent, and you quickly scanned the beer list as she waited. 

 

“I’ll take a dark beer, surprise me.” You offered her your ID, and she jotted your drink on a slip before handing it back. 

 

“You want any food with that?”

 

You shook your head, handing her your debit card and watching her briskly make her way through the crowd back to the bar. Settling in slightly, you looked around the bar. The flier had said it was the friendliest place, and you had to hand it to them, it seemed they were right. The air was filled with laughter, jokes, and people sharing stories over beers, fries, and pool tables. If you had friends, this is a place where you felt many good late night memories would have been made. Regardless, you’d be the one to have fun tonight, people or no. Maybe you’d even talk to someone in those groups, make some friends even.

 

Until then, you’d be happy with working on keeping your buzz afloat and just enjoying the atmosphere.

 

Near the bar, you heard a chorus of shouts and cheers, and craned your neck to see there were TVs lining the back of the bar, some sport playing on all of them. How could you have missed all the people in jerseys at the bar? It was a miracle. The waitress made her way back to you, dropping a pint of nice dark beer by you hand with a wink before bustling off, and you smiled indulgently into it as you took a long, refreshing dreg from it. At least they were having fun, and who were you to blame them?

 

You were nearly to the bottom of your beer, your buzz fully restored, when a familiar voice caught your attention.

 

“Hey there, buddy! I noticed you were alone! Mind if I join you?”

 

You looked up from your drink to see a familiar face; it was the guy from earlier at work! He was still dressed how he was in the cafe; a military green shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and simple khaki cargo pants tucked into boots. His smile was the same as the coffee shop, wide and warm, showing just a little bit of gum on his top teeth as he gestured to the other side of the booth with a hand grasping a liter glass, another in his left hand.

 

It was hard to do anything but smile in reply, and you motion for him to sit.

 

“Fancy meeting you here!” You greeted, finishing your drink and setting it to the side. His eyes followed your movements before finding your gaze, locking in with strange amber eyes. “What brings you out tonight? You had mentioned having a long night ahead of you back at the cafe!” He smiled ruefully, taking a drink of his beer, gaze finally leaving yours before he spoke again.

 

“Well, to put it frankly, I was…stood up.” He motioned to the second beer with his chin. “They’re late and not replying to my messages. But when I saw you,” His tone perked up, and his lips once more took on that ever entrancing smile. “And I wasn’t too upset about it. In fact, I noticed you were already drinking a stout, please feel free to have this one, so it goes to a good cause.” He winked, sliding it across the table to you.

 

A blush crept its way up from the neck of your sweater, and you let out a small laugh as you looked around the room, the ceiling, anywhere but his face. There was a definite hum in the air, a crackling of energy you felt when you made eye contact, one you assumed was due to the alcohol in your system, and it both felt good, and a bit scary. It had been a minute or two since someone had, to your impression, flirted with you.

 

“I’m happy that I could help you out, then…” It hit you that you had no idea what his name was, and he seemed to get the hint, outright chortling into his drink.

 

“How rude of me, my name is Strade.” You finally brought your gaze back, clasping your hands in front of you on the table. It was an interesting name, and the way he said it made something in the back of your head click in recognition, but it was just out of reach.

 

“Well Strade, lucky for you, I skipped past the ‘people ghosting me’ thing, and just came out alone! So you have me all to yourself tonight.” 

 

He seemed aghast at your words, hand dropping to the table with a dull thud. “Das ist _Blödsinn!_ Es tut mir leid das zu hören.” The look on your face must have betrayed you, and he waved his other hand dismissively. “You’re telling me no one is keeping you company? What about your friends?”

 

Friends? What a joke. Instead of admitting you had zero friends in your phone or life, you decided a gentle lie was in order…

 

“I mean, we still talk once in a while…but with school and work, it’s hard to get time together.” The entire time you spoke, Strade kept a very intense focus on you. It was a little unnerving as he stared, almost completely unblinking, smile never wavering behind his beer. There was something…different in his eyes…something you couldn’t quite place, though you did pride yourself on barely understanding the fact (albeit a bit too late to reasonably bring it up) that he was speaking in german, which was obviously where his accent was from, and you felt silly for not placing it earlier. You took a long swig of the offered beer as he continued.

“That’s rough, buddy.” His tone was sympathetic, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s hard to coordinate times when the world gets in the way, I understand completely. It was like that for me as well, and I can’t tell you if there’s a real fix to it, but for now–” Strade lifted his glass to you, and you raised yours in return, “To new friendships!”

 

“To new friendships!” You concurred, firmly clunking the glasses together and knocking them back to drink deeply. Whatever had been going on earlier must have just been you being silly. You decided firmly to have fun, and that’s what you were going to do.

 

The minutes ticked by easily as the two of you chatted about anything and everything; your weird degree and (embarrassingly enough) details about your adoption mishaps and lack of actual parents driving you to take your passions across the country and try your hand somewhere new. Your dreams to study robotics and artificial intelligence, and more stories of varying silliness or honesty. All the while, Strade was a perfect listener, giving condolences when the story was sad, laughing at the jokes, and urging you on as you drank one, two, three more beers.

 

You excused yourself to the bathroom, and he promised to guard the table as you shed your sweater and made your way into the florescent-lit single stall room. It wasn’t until you sat down on the toilet that it hit you just how drunk you were, walls wobbling around you as you relieved yourself. It was that weird sense of being slightly disconnected to your body, and in your opinion, the best type of drunk to be; happy, slightly numb, and smiling. You resolved that when you came back to the main bar, you’d head home, enjoy the rain on the way, and then collapse into the warmth of your bed. Netflix could wait until tomorrow.  
Strade rose to meet you as you reentered the main bar, spotting you from across the room. The crowds had thinned out after the game had ended, and the late-nighters were settling in with their drinks, so it wasn’t too hard to cut a path back to the table. 

 

He held your cardigan in his hands, offering to help you put it on, which you gratefully accepted, sliding your arms into the oversized sleeves and welcoming the familiar weight on your shoulders. 

 

“I think it’s late enough for me, I should be getting home soon.” You smiled apologetically, pulling out your phone and offering it to him. “If i’m reading the tone of tonight right, would you want to do this again sometime? I’m usually free later in the night, and tonight was absolutely lovely.” Inwardly you were screaming, this wasn’t your usual method, but he had been so nice, and you had a feeling he was as into you as you were into him. You hoped.

 

“Of course!” He beamed, taking your slim phone into his hands, making it look comically small, and he gestured to the bar. “I paid my tab while you were in the bathroom. You should go get your debit card, liebling.”

 

“Pfft, of course! Thanks for the reminder, I’m a space cadet today.”

 

You turned a little too fast on your heel, wobbling as you regained your balance, walking purposefully back up to the bar. The waitress you had earlier recognized you, helping you pay and wishing you a good night after you left a considerable tip. Card in hand, you returned to Strade, who held your phone back out to you.

 

“I put my number in, feel free to call me tomorrow when you’re free, ja? I also had fun, mein schatz, and look forward to getting to know you better.” His gaze was that strange intensity again, and you had a hard time staring back, as you kept slightly wobbling back and forth. You exhaled a little too forcefully, and realized too late that you may have accidentally hit your limit, and then some. 

Not good.

 

For the first time in the night, you felt a pang of panic.

 

“Well, I’ll do that, thank you again for the nice night!” Trying to hide your sudden apprehension, you moved to give the man a hug, feeling him stiffen under you for a fraction of a second before two strong arms snaked around your upper back, giving you a gentle squeeze before you backed away. He smelled like…motor oil, and sweat, a strangely masculine musk. It lingered in the air as you shook your head in a vain attempt to clear it.

 

“You as well! Shall I walk you to your car?” Strade questioned, following you as you walked out the front door into the rain.

 

“A car? Pfft, no, I walk everywhere.” You replied without thinking. “Even if I did, I’m waaaay too drunk to drive.”

 

“What? That’s not safe, liebling! Allow me to drive you home. My car is just over here.” He didn’t give you an option, a hand wrapping around your forearm and guiding you up the street to a nicer car parked on the road. More panic rose in your throat, and you struggled to get your arm free, to no avail. The rain kept coming down, and you felt cold, and your hair quickly flattened by the deluge, obscuring your eyes.

 

“No, really, I’m fine! I live nearby and I can walk–” You were cut off as you were slammed into the side of the car, breath whooshing out of your lungs with a wet gurgle. Strade’s body pressed up against you, and he wrenched the arm he held behind you so hard you heard your shoulder pop, followed by pain. 

 

“Now, are you going to make this hard, or are you going to come peacefully?” He growled in your ear, pulling your arm up higher until you squirmed and cried out wordlessly. Hoping to get him to stop, you nodded vigorously into the glass you were pressed into, and immediately the weight was gone. Strade pulled away from you, gently lifting you from the side of the car and almost dusting you off, patting your shoulder kindly.

 

“See? That was easy. Now let’s get you out of this rain, shall we?” He was grinning again, holding the passenger side door open. You hesitated for a second, eyes wide, until he motioned with his chin, impatience starting to crack his facade again. You averted your eyes and ducked under his elbow, settling into the seat.

 

Slamming the door behind you gave you a few seconds of solitude to see your surroundings; the door beside you had no handle or lever, and there seemed to be a set of cuffs attached to the dashboard, metal of course, and before you could really process just how deep in shit you were, the drivers side opened, and Strade dropped into the seat, slamming his door and starting the engine.

 

“You see, I just thought tonight was too much fun to let end. You felt it too, right?” He offered in that chipper tone he always used, but you saw his eyes were flat, almost deadly. You fucked up. Desperately,you turned away from him and scrambled to find a way to break the window, and you heard a curse, and a large hand grabbed the side of your head, slamming it into the window once, twice, three times–

 

And everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I post this to my tumblr as well, which is where I'll be featuring my artwork from the series and subsequent endings. I'll also always post wips and previews there first while writing and drawing, so go check it out! (boyfriendedtodeath2.tumblr.com)
> 
> <3 Delta


	3. Chapter Two--When Morning Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake to realize that this wasn't a bad dream, merely the dawn of the worst few days of your life. 
> 
> (Sorry for the shorter chapter again, I'm trying to stick to the flow of the in-game events up until the new ending chapters.)

You woke with a start, head jerking up painfully and slamming into something hard, letting it drop with a hoarse cry. There was a dull ache that steeped into the back of your eyes like it was ichor, and you raised your hand to your temple.

 

At least, you tried to.

 

Full consciousness hit you as you realized you hands were tied behind your back, which would account for the ache in the middle of your shoulders as well. An experimental tug felt like you were tied with rope, and it already began to burn against the tender flesh of your inner wrist. Bile rose in your throat, and you choked it back as your mind raced; what had happened?!

 

You remembered going out, and going to the bar...meeting Strade, talking for a while, and leaving...then what? All the while, your pulse thundered in your ears painfully, and you tried to crack your eyes open to see what was around you.

 

Your heart stopped. It seemed you were in a dimly lit basement, or garage. The smell of oil and copper hit your nose, and something deep inside you was screaming to struggle, to run. There were tools on the walls, and a cabinet ahead of you. Off to the side, you saw stairs, and you gulped air down to stop from vomiting on yourself in fear.

 

"S--Strade!" You called out, throat rough, voice coming out much more broken than you had hoped, and surely much too quietly to be heard from above. "Strade!Where are you?! Help! Please!"

 

Against all odds, you heard a door open, and footsteps bounding down the stairs. Strade hit the bottom of the steps, that grin on his face again as he took the sight of you in.

 

"You're already awake!" His tone was surprised, mixed with that same upbeat undertone he used at the bar. You squinted up at him, your stomach in knots. Did you really think he would help you? Memories of him slamming you into the car came back to you in a rush, him threatening you and then knocking you out. It felt like you swallowed a brick as a cold sweat began to bead up under your bangs.

 

"How ya feeling, Amelie?"

 

Was he expecting an answer? You pulled your legs up against your chest, grateful that you were still wearing all your clothing. It couldn't hurt to try and appeal to his humanity, right? He had that...right?

 

"My...My wrists hurt." The admittance was sheepish, and you averted your gaze as he sighed.

 

"Did I tie you too tight?" Strade leaned forward, pulling your gaze back as his eyes narrowed. "I can't help it...You look nice with some rope burn." He finished the statement in an almost sing-song, and you shifted under his intense gaze uncomfortably.

 

You vaguely remembered reading about people like him in your psychology classes; you needed to be just human enough to remind them you weren't actually prey, or some toy. Something with emotions, but not too many that they'd be upset and kill you

faster. You had to play on the highest of tightropes you ever had in your life, if you wanted to keep living it.

 

Attempting to look up at him from your lashes, you took a deep, steadying breath.

 

"This has to be a misunderstanding. Or something. I don't understand what's happening."

 

Strade barked out a laugh in reply.

 

"Misunderstanding?" He let out another long laugh before looking back at you. "No. I know what i'm doing. Oh-" Cutting himself off, he raised one hand. "I almost forgot! Before we get started, you want something to eat? Drink?"

 

The question caught you off guard more than you cared for. Begin? Begin what? Your stomach roiled in protest, and you mentally clocked yourself back in time to see the last time you had eaten...You had a sandwich at work for lunch, maybe around noon, and then you didn't eat before heading to the bar...Gods only know how long it had been since then.

 

Trying to ignore your protesting stomach, you shut your eyes, shaking your head no. You couldn't trust that it wasn't poisoned, or drugged, and you needed to keep your wits about you.  
Strade sized you up for a moment.

 

"Nothing, hmn? That's alright, I'm eager to get started too."

 

You opened your eyes when you heard a rustling and saw Strade pull a large hunting knife from a sheath on his belt, brandishing it with an eerie smile. Again, fear made bile rise in your throat as you desperately kicked your feet to push you back flush to whatever you were tied to, only thought was keeping away from that blade's glint.

 

"W-what are you doing?!" You felt the words pull themselves from your throat, your eyes wide and wild as Strade merely smiled in a weird parody of a comforting grin.

 

"Your clothing is on the way." He stated matter-of-factly, sliding the blade under the exposed hem of your dress' sleeve, the resulting ripping noise making your heart stutter in your chest. Your eyes wheeled around the room, desperately trying to focus on anything else as panic overwhelmed your senses.

 

"I'll do anything!" You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as you prayed he would stop.  
Silence rang in your ears, and you cracked an eye open to see strade staring at you in quiet fascination.

 

"Really?" He questioned.

 

You tried to steady your breathing, nodding quickly.

 

"A-anything." You promised, hoping you didn't seem as scared as you felt.

 

Strade stood back up, leaning against the countertops, knife tapping rhythmically at his lower lip as he thought. After a few moments, he grinned, standing back up to his full height over you.

 

"Alright."

 

With a relaxed stride, he circled you, and you heard him crouch down on the cold concrete, and the feeling of your ropes loosening around your wrists easily. You slowly pulled your hands forward, feeling the blood returning to your arms as you rubbed them in front of you.

 

Strade came back from behind you, returning to his place against the counter, and a moment of silence passed as he looked you up and down.

 

"Take off all your clothes." You saw him raise the knife, lazily trailing it through the air in a threat. His eyes narrowed in punctuation. "And stay on the floor."

 

You looked apprehensive, stare going from the front of your now slightly damaged dress and him, the knife still making lazy circles in the air. It was probably best you stayed on his good side. The boots were easy to take off, setting them gingerly to the side, you started tugging down your stockings as fast as you could; he started looking impatient, and you were hoping to go fast enough to not feel the shame burn in your chest and cheeks as you realize you had actually worn underwear, but it was the rare occasion you did under dresses. Thank whatever god told you to do that.

 

Finally, you slipped the dress up and over your torso, the cold air hitting your skin and making goosebumps raise along your arms and legs. You looked down at your bra and simple black panties, then back to Strade, a touch of panic tinging your voice.

 

"...Can I keep my underwear on?"

 

The question seemed to surprise him again, but he quickly shook it off and nodded.

 

"You can leave them on." His eyes narrowed, teeth bare in a sliver of a smile. "For now." He pushed off the counter, stepping up to you. Without any warning, the tip of the knife was just inches from your noise and you made a strangled yelp as you flinched away from it. With a smooth movement Strade flipped the knife, holding the handle out to you.

 

"Take it." The tone was lighthearted, but you heard the firm command underneath.

 

A knife. He was giving you a knife. Was he crazy, or did he really just not see a threat in you? There was little time to really ponder this as he went back to his position on the counter, hands loosely folded in front of him as your eyes went from him, to the knife, and back.

 

"Cut yourself."

 

The command was more forceful now, and Strade's eyes almost glowed with predatory lust as you held the knife with shaky hands.

 

Couldn't you just attack him? He was at ease, maybe you would catch him off guard? At least wound him so you have time to run? It was worth a shot--As you glanced up, you noticed that while his pose was relaxed, his muscles were taut under his shirt...He was pretending. If you did anything now, he was expecting it, and from the look in his eyes, maybe even wanting it.

 

No, you had to do as he said.

 

You cast your gaze down at your legs, bare and vulnerable, as the silence dragged on. Slowly, you lowered the knife down to your thigh, hoping if it was quick, it may hurt less, so you pressed and slashed it downwards in a sharp motion. The blood welled to the surface immediately as you hissed against the wave of shock from seeing the bright red against your leg. The knife must have been less dull than you thought, as it had gone in deeper than you anticipated.

 

You began to shake, vision wavering as you looked back up to Strade. His expression was unreadable, but his chest was moving with deeper, faster breaths. A low groan came from where he stood, and you realized it was because Strade was moaning quietly.

 

"More." He ordered, licking his lips.

 

The knife felt heavy in your hands, and your breath came in short gasps. The cut stung unbelievably, and you were afraid of doing it again. There was no way you could do it again, if just one cut made you almost come apart at the seams.

 

"No? Can't handle anymore?" Strade asked, expression changing into what would normally be a show of sympathy, and for a moment, your heart leapt, maybe he was going to let you stop--In a swift movement he lunged forward, yanking the knife from your hand. A gasp flew from your lips as he moved out of your vision, pulling your arms back behind the pole.

 

"Wait! Please!" You cried, to no avail.

 

"Don't worry, I'll take care of the rest." He lilted into your ear from behind as the ropes were resecured again. Strade moved around the pole to your side, and with a flash, plunged the knife deep into your leg.

 

White hot pain filled your senses, and you doubled over as well as you could as you screamed. The knife was withdrawn with a sickening noise, fresh blood welling up and actively pouring down your leg. Eyes fixated on the viscous liquid coating the blade, Strade wiped the knife off on his pant leg, moving to stand before you.

 

"Oh no! Look how much you're bleeding!"

 

He seemed perfectly okay with that, his eyes raking up and down your exposed figure, a blush blooming in his cheeks, eyes slightly glazed over as your head lolled to the side. The pain had whited out your vision twice, and now you felt...empty? Like your head was full of cotton, like nights where you got blackout drunk and were just about to pass out.

 

While you were trying to keep your eyes open, you heard Strade tut at you.

 

"Mmn, you're not gonna last like that." He leaned in close enough for you to see the pores on his cheek and nose as he continued. "Would you like me to stitch those up for you?"

 

The idea of his hands on you made you sick all over again, but he was right. You felt yourself getting more and more foggy, and you couldn't stop the bleeding with your arms behind a pole. Reluctantly, you nodded, almost as in defeat.

 

"Great!" Wheeling around, strade rummaged around in a high cabinet, pulling out an obviously marked first aid kit. He began to hum a cheery tune, plopping down between your legs and reentering your rapidly narrowing field of vision, digging through until he presumably found what he was looking for. A freshly threaded curved needle came into focus, and you limply struggled, but your leg was caught by a large hand holding you steady. All the while, he smiled the same as he did back at the bar, but instead of comforted, you felt physically repulsed.

 

The needle pressed against your leg, and you tensed as he spoke.

 

" _This is probably gonna hurt_."

 

Without even waiting for his words to end, Strade pushed the needle through the still raw flesh, and you grit your teeth against the curses you held back. You pressed your head back against the pole to try and use that pain to keep your mind in check, the air filled with your gasping breaths and Strade's humming. It seemed like it wasn't the first time he had done this, moving from one gash to the second with the mercy of a field doctor in the civil war.

 

"Almost..." You felt him tug sharply at the sutures, before cutting the excess away with the hunting knife smoothly. "Done!"

 

Head lolling back down to look, you let out a haggard sigh of relief, until you heard him take quick breath.

 

"Oh! Almost forgot something!" His hand shot back into the box, pulling out a brown stoppered bottle and cloth. "Alcohol!" Before you could react, he yanked open the top and sloshed it messily over your cuts, drawing a sharp inhale and a groan from you. It burned so bad, and your eyes flew open to be met, as they always have been in this hellish place, with the sight of a wide welcoming smile.

 

"There we go." Tone tinged with concern, Strade tilted his head to the side. "All better?"  
Hot tears threatened to fall down your cheeks, and you hid your face in your hair as best as you could. Despite this, you could hear Strade straightening his clothes, his breathing back to even again.

 

"I'll take that as a yes." His knees came into your vision again, and his breath was hot on your cheeks as he laid his hand on the other cheek, calloused fingers lightly pressing into your face. "I've decided that i'll be good! _Ich werde das hier auskosten_." It felt like a threat, but you had no idea what he said as you opened your eyes to blearily meet his gaze.

 

His thumb rubbed a quick circle on your jaw, before he patted you twice, lightly.

 

"Get some rest, okay?" Straightening up and stretching with a whistle, the man paid no attention to you as he spun and made his way back to the stairs. Your mind reeled as you tried to see him with your blurry vision, was he going to just leave you here alone?!

 

You strained against your bonds as you called out after him, calling his name over and over, begging for him not to leave you, but you flinched as his footsteps faded, a door slam giving punctuation to the scene as the lights went dark. A small sob ripped itself from your chest, the tears you had been holding back in Strade's presence finally streaming down your face, dampening your bare chest and causing you to shake. You could still see the cuts on your legs in the low light, red and raw and blood already crusting around your thighs and on the cool concrete beneath you.

 

Struggling to pull your legs up, you sobbed into your knees, wishing for someone to save you, some way to go home. Instead, you tried to close your eyes, willing sleep to come to you. To escape, you needed to be alert and rested. There was little use crying in the dark, and thankfully, sleep came and swept over you like a chilled blanket, and you returned to the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I also update on my burner Tumblr (boyfriendedtodeath2.tumblr.com) with chapter WIPs and art from this series, so go take a look!


	4. Chapter Three--Strade Kept You!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You survived another night...But how long can your luck last?

Dreams came to you, fleeting, vivid, and feverish, mind trapped in a chaotic swirl of emotions and colours until you woke with a start. The smell of mold and copper hit your nose, and you coughed to suppress the sudden wave of acid in your throat, keeping it in rather than on you. In a frustratingly familiar scene, there came the realization that yes, you were still tied up, still in the dark, and still in that damned basement.

There was a throbbing at your temples, tongue swollen and sour in your mouth as you desperately tried to breathe through your panic. Without thinking, you tried to move you arms forward, and could feel that you wrists slid out a little more than before! Another experimental wiggle made you think that if you could just pull hard enough, you may get your hand free--

A squeak from a footfall upstairs stopped you cold. Ears straining, you struggled, trying to hold your breath just in case Strade, somehow, could hear you working at your bindings.

Minutes passed infuriatingly slow as the sweat began to bead on your forehead. You were so tired...With a defeated growl, you shifted into a less uncomfortable position and let yourself go back to sleep. As they you usually say, 'I'll deal with it in the morning', was the last thing you thought before lapsing back into dreamless sleep.

\--

A sharp kick ripped you from the safety of unconsciousness.

"Still sleeping? Aren't you looking chipper! You're all fresh and ready for a new day!"

Any last vestiges of sleep were torn away by Strade's loud greeting, much like the curtains being opened to a sunny day in an otherwise pitch black room. With a groan, you tried to adjust your position, halfheartedly tugging at the ropes that held you.

"So how about something to eat?" A brightly coloured shape moved back and forth in front of you in his hands, an energy bar of some sort? You vaguely recognized the packaging as a more popular protein bar. In response, your stomach rumbled, but despite how much you knew you needed the energy to put up with whatever the man had planned for you two today, there was no way you'd admit you needed more help from him than he had already given.

Instead, you bit your lip and turned your head away, resolute.

"No?" Strade asked, giving you a few seconds to change your mind. They hung heavy in the silence, but you had made up your mind. "Suit yourself!" He busied himself with tearing the wrapper off, letting it fall unceremoniously by your left food. It was hard not to be a little jealous as he tore a chunk off with a grin.

"Mmf. You know--" He waved the bar casually, like he had with the knife yesterday. "I feel like we're really getting to know each other."

Another bite.

"I know it hasn't been long, but this sort of...mmf..experience...It speeds things up." Continuing to chew, he leaned in closer. "It's the adrenaline. _You're excited_ \--"

Strade moved closer still, eyes glinting in the lowlight, that mesmerizing amber, holding your gaze like a vice.

" ** _I'm excited_**."

With the proximity, you could smell him; sweat and machine oil, a strange musky mix, filling your nose and masking the scent of the basement around you.

"We're sharing something very... _personal_." The last one made you feel dirty, and you finally managed to tear your eyes away, focusing on a stain on the concrete to your right as best you could as he laughed. "You look a little scared." Strade quipped, and without thinking, you snapped your attention back to him with the best glare you could muster. Seemingly pleased with that, he finally moved back to lean against the counter, hands relaxed at his sides.

"I can tell how you're feeling." Although he had moved back, you still felt the intensity of his stare as it ran down every angle and curve of your exposed body, picking his teeth with a nail absently. "You're all tied up on the floor...some guy's basement...and _who knows what i'll do to you_? Helpless." As witty or angry as you were, you found yourself completely at a loss for words, mouth slightly open. You were unable to do little more than stare at Strade as he seemed to make up his mind about something, clapping his hands together and jarring you back to attention.

"I'll give you some control." He spun cleanly on the heel of his boot, rummaging around on the counter before just as quickly spinning back. "Here's your choice!"

Your heart stopped in your chest. In one hand, Strade held a hammer, and the other, a cordless power drill. The smile on his face had stopped being comforting since the night he put you in his car, but the face he was giving you now made your stomach flip, breath hitching. He looked absolutely radiant with joy. It made you sick.

Something in you knew for a fact that despite his words, the choice really wasn't yours. You had to think fast; the hammer? He was most likely going to break bones, and you needed your body as whole as possible just in case your bonds were still loose by night...if you survived this to see another one. The drill? That one was much more loose cannon. He could pierce something? Stab you with it? Your mind swam dazzlingly in circles, until your gaze wordlessly locked on your choice.

"The drill?" Strade asked, holding it aloft. His smile grew.

"Good choice. I was kinda hoping you'd pick it." Heart slamming inside your ribs, you let out a wheezing breath. The look in his eyes made it abundantly clear he wasn't kidding. You made another mistake, it seemed. Desperate to move in any way, your legs pushed futilely against the hard concrete, heels digging in and grinding your spine against the solid pole you were tied to with an almost audible sound. Strade, either ignoring pointedly or just being purely oblivious to your fear, had spun and prepped the drill, before returning to stand before you.

His knee silently hit the concrete solidly between your legs, keeping them open, finger teasing the trigger of the drill. Your breath came in short gasps as the whirring intensified; you could already feel the air coming off it, and the drill-bit looked weirdly muddy red already when he let it stop.

"Don't--" You plead, watching with dread as he moved the drill closer to your right foot, feeling it creep closer and closer to the top, where it was vulnerable and exposed.

"No no NO!" You screamed, trying to move your leg, pulling your knee towards your chest, but Strade gripped your ankle in one strong hand, dragging it back. The drill was slammed into your foot, the sharp rotating bit tearing through the thin flesh and into the tendons and bones. Blood and viscera flew from the wound, propelled by the spin, droplets landing on Strade's cheek, pants, shirt, slapping against your stomach, your thighs.

A scream ripped itself from your chest, and your throat was already so raw, but it kept coming, raggedly turning into sobs as Strade pulled the drill away, blood dripping back onto the open wound, making your stomach turn as Strade let out a low sigh of contentment. His cheeks were a dull ruddy colour, eyes fixated on your foot, mouth open in a slack grin.

Again, he slammed the drill back into your foot, sloppily letting it move inside of you, and again, your screams echoed in the basement like mocking demons, laughing at your pain. There was too much--Your eyes might have rolled up into your skull , all you could see was white.

All you could hear was your screams, almost as if you had been peeled from your body, observing while still feeling. You could hear the drill as it tore sickeningly through more flesh and tendon, the pain paralyzing your body as you writhed in your bonds.

Underneath all that? You heard Strade chuckling.

After what felt like an eternity of torture, the drill was pulled away, the whirring dying down until the only sound in the room was your heaving sobs. The clattering of the drill dropping to the ground, discarded, prompted you to try and look back up. He was panting, eyes locked squarely on your face.

"You....fucking.... _asshole_..." Your voice was strained, hardly a threat, but you needed to say it.

Responding just like you figured he would, Strade leaned in, almost tenderly running his thumb across your cheek. His smile was back, eyes a little more clear, but that ruddy blush was still blooming in his cheeks, shoulders moving with each breath.

"You're doing so good!"

You ignored his false praise, daring to look at your foot--

It was hopelessly mangled. Stringy bits of tendons lay on the arch of your foot, blood coating up to your ankle, pooling on the ground. It looked less like a small drill wound, and more like someone shot point blank with a revolver, the edges torn and raw. Back when you had been in high school, someone had tried to rile you up, and had sent you a photo of a fake dead body that was realistic enough to have made you puke in the trash can, and it was all you could think of; flesh flayed in the wrong places, pooled in their own blood. What seemed like a safer bet turned into the first literal step to being a corpse yourself.

Choking back a sob, you let your head fall back, and fear took over as hot tears continued to wash your cheeks. _Oh gods, you were going to die here_ \--

While you were trying to get a grip on yourself, Strade's eyes had followed yours, marveling at his handiwork with a lopsided grin. His hand trailed over the wound, pulling a hiss of pain from you, and snapping your focus back. He only had eyes for your wound, fingers playing in your blood, drawing senseless shapes in it before trailing up your inner thigh with a rough grip.

All you could do was bite your lip and watch with dread as his eyes glazed over, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he continued to smear your own blood on your torso, entranced.

Before you could react really, Strade leaned forward, untying you with a few jerky motions. Your wrists ached, but before you could even put your arms together, you were pushed to the floor with a slam. You only just barely caught yourself on your elbows, trying to twist around, to see what he was planning now--

Stepping over you, you felt a heavy boot pressing into your back, slamming your face into the floor, grinding it into the concrete. Unable to turn your head or see anything, you wheezed under his foot as it continued to add pressure, your ribs and lungs straining against the weight. Above you, Strade let out a low sigh, like a...moan? Oh god, please don't say he just moaned--

The weight lifted from your back, but you were too scared to move, to incur another blow, but it never came. Instead, hands gripped your hips, lifting them off the floor roughly. You squirmed in his grasp, foot aching and protesting against the strain, but to no avail. With a sharp tug and rip, you underwear was torn from you, cold air hitting your most intimate areas like a sting. As if not seeing anything could help, you clamped your eyes shut and tried to focus on anything else, counting how your heartbeats made your foot throb. For a moment, you felt Strade touching you, hands running up and down your inner thighs, testing the apex and teasing at it--

Then you felt them draw back, something larger bluntly pushing into you. In shock, you let out a small shriek, Strade already buried deep within you, hips against your backside. Without waiting more than a few seconds, he head pulled back, slamming into you again with force. Letting out another pained gasp, you tried to move forward, move away, but his hand was on your neck now, gripping and pushing your face into the floor as he continued his frenzied pace behind you.

The thrusts pushed your knees down, and you felt the skin rub raw as you were slammed into again and again. Focusing on your foot, on the pain, you tried to keep quiet--you've learned that he reacted to sound, and didn't want to make this any worse than it already was. All you could do was hope he'd satisfy himself soon and either just kill you or leave again. The tears you had been crying mixed with the blood on the floor, caking and drying on your cheek.

Strade's grip tightened, low grunts and growls coming from him behind you, finally letting out a grinding moan. You felt him buck his hips one last time, holding you against him with all the force he had, your hips aching with the pressure. His hand on your neck let up slightly, rubbing small circles with his thumb as he leaned forward against your back.

"I could get used to that." The rumble of his low whisper made you gag silently, eyes still screwed shut, refusing to acknowledge him. Gracelessly, he pulled out of you, and you tried to ignore the wetness between your legs as he let go, dropping you limply on the concrete.

You couldn't even try to fight it anymore.

Eyes still shut, this time from exhaustion and sorrow, you heard Strade stand, and the rustling of clothing as he righted himself, adjusting his clothes again. His hands were hot on your arms as he dragged you back to the pole, propping your limp body back up, and you didn't even flinch as he roughly retied your bonds.

"You all out of jam, Buddy?" A hand patted your cheek, and you didn't even really notice the sounds of his footsteps as he left the basement, or the change of the lights being turned off. You were so, so tired.

The silence was so inviting, and you sunk into it willingly--

Footsteps roused you with a start. There were footfalls on the stairs, and your heart rate spiked in fear as your eyes strained to see in the dark, focusing on the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. You tried to silence your terror-filled breaths, straining to hear more as the sounds continued.

They couldn't be Straude. The steps were lighter, slower, more deliberate? You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus. You didn't want to betray the fact that you were awake, just in case it was a trap. There was a weird clicking noise with every step, and you flinched as you heard something sniff right by your face--a dog?

Your eyes snapped open to the sound of a gasp.

Before you was a boy, barely older than a teenager from how he looked, dressed in a ragged tanktop and shorts, covered head to toes in scars. He held his hands up in surprise.

"You're alive?!"

You blinked owlishly, trying to understand what you were seeing in the dim light. He had red hair, and large eyes, with weird...tattoos? Drawings? Under his eyes of red triangles, partially obscured by the glasses he wore. Orange eyes met yours, panic clearly written along every tense part of his body. Your attention swapped from the weird device around his neck to the...fox ears? And tail?

Your mind swam in circles, and you hazily shook it.

"Are those...Fox ears?" It sounded weirder when you said it aloud, and the boy's tail swished behind him in fast, anxious passes. He seemed shy, and you were worried that you may have insulted the first non-murderer (You hoped) you've seen in this house since waking up the first day here.

"O-oh, these?" He gestured to his head vaguely, before moving his arms back in front of his chest. "Well i'm a--" He faltered. "I can hide them. But he won't doesn't me."

This was a dream, wasn't it? There was no way this could be real. Dream or not, the guy seemed terrified now. Like a breeze could knock him over, and he'd run off. You couldn't let the opportunity pass.

"Hello. I'm Amelie." You introduced yourself, keeping your voice level, calm, and quiet. You hoped that it sounded reassuring, and you did your best to soften your expression into a smile--it felt strange, but you had to try.

"O-oh." His eyes darted around the room, before resting on you. "Nice to meet you, I guess? I'm, uh, Ren." His shoulders dropped a bit, and you let out a small breath of relief.

"Ren, I'm hurting pretty badly right now."

"I know." He immediately looked away, ears pressing down against his hair. You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself sounding soothing.

"Ren, please. I need you to help me." He flinched at your words, pulling his tail in front of him to stroke the fur, once again tense.

"I can't let you go--" There was genuine sorrow in his voice, and you glanced again at the weird thing on his neck, his scars, and you knew he's been through the wringer. Of course he couldn't, the poor guy must have been Strade's plaything for a long time, looking at the healing on those scars.

"I understand." You gently cut him off, eyebrows raised in sympathy. "You're not allowed, right?" He nodded, seeming grateful for your insight. However, he kept fidgeting, looking at you, the doorway, back to you, and behind you--

"I, uh.." Ren murmured, and you almost didn't hear him. "I could get you a glass of water?"

It wasn't a ticket to freedom, but you hadn't had anything to eat or drink in at least two, three days? And the idea of water was still nice, despite your other needs.

"I'd really appreciate that, if it's not too much trouble."

For the first time since you had seen the small guy, a hesitant smile curved his lips. You smiled in return, and he moved around you, and you could hear the faint sound of clinking, and then the sound of a tap running before shutting off quickly. He reappeared before you, a clear glass of water in his hand, and you moved to sit up a little straighter against the pole.

"Here you--" Eyes darting to the hands bound behind the pole, Ren scrunched his nose. "Oh, ah. You're tied up, I'm sorry." He kneeled down beside you, carefully bringing the rim of the glass to your chapped lips. You drank as slowly as your body would let you, but the second it hit your tongue, your body remembered just how thirsty it was. It was cool, soothing your throat, and clearing your hazy mind, just a bit. All good things had to end sometime, and before you knew it, he was pulling the empty cup away, looking sorrowful.

"Thank you, Ren."

He smiled again, but it faltered as he caught sight of your mangled foot.

"I suppose I could, uh, help you a little with that?" You watched, hopefully, as he went to the cabinet where Strade had grabbed the med kit for your legs on the first day. He snatched up the cup, moving around you quickly to where you assumed a sink was, the tap running again. When he came around the pole, he sat the cup down on the floor, opening the med kit with a soft click.

Producing a large piece of gauze, he dipped it into the water and gingerly started to wash your foot. You were expecting it to be chilled, like the water you had drank, but it was pleasantly warm. His hand drifted too close to the epicenter of the wound, and you let out a low hiss in surprise.

"Sorry!" Ren gasped, a bit louder than before. Immediately he dropped his tone, looking embarrassed. "I'll try to be more gentle."

You attempted to smile, to calm his nerves a bit as he kept diligently cleaning the wound. He placed the gauze to the side, pulling a small spray bottle out of the kit. From the smell--and the tingling burn--it was antiseptic. This time, you were prepared, biting your tongue to keep quiet.

"I'm sorry, I can't give you a bandage..." Ren finished up, putting everything where it needed to go, and tossing the gauze into a bin under the cabinets. "He'd notice."

Your heart sunk a little; although the wound was more clean than it had been, the floor was still filthy, and while you still felt like you may not leave this house alive, the idea of dying by infection seemed pretty awful. Still, you had to give the guy credit for his help, despite knowing that his involvement would probably get him hurt more.

"That's okay." You reassured him softly. "You've done a lot to help me, thank you." His bushy tail swished behind him, his eyes lit up more.

"Y-you're welcome! But...I do need to go now. I'm not supposed to be down here..." Shrinking back in on himself, Ren took a step back, glancing at the door. There wasn't much else you could ask of him, and while the sane conversation partner was lovely, you knew he had already risked so much for a complete stranger. You wouldn't be comfortable being the reason he received any more scars. So instead, you nodded, and with one last sympathetic glance, Ren made his way back upstairs, the quiet click of the door having a solid air of finality.

Thankfully, your foot _did_ feel better, and your spirits--while not being the highest--were notably less low. Shifting into a better position, you did your best not to let the dred settle on your shoulders as you fell asleep to another lonely night.

\---

When you woke up next, it was naturally, without being shaken or scared awake. You blinked several times, blearily letting your now bruised thighs come into focus. Finally looking up to take stock of the room, Strade caught your eye with a gasp. He was leaning against the counters leisurely, eyes focused on you. You immediately remembered the previous night, drawing your legs closer to your chest as his gaze wandered down them, to your foot, and back up to your face.

"Morning, Amelie." He greeted in that same jovial tone. "You're still in pretty good shape." Licking his lips, Strade moved forward to crouch closer to you. His voice dropped an octave, smile stretching his lips.

"I really should finish you off."

You couldn't breathe around your heart in your throat, and you did you best not to move, not to show anything on your face that would set him off. This is it. Three days. That was all you got, and they were in absolute hell. Strade cut into your thoughts, eyes looking to the side, smile faltering.

"....But I don't want to."

Hope buoyed in your chest, eyes wide.

"...You're letting me go?" It was too good to be true. Strade knew you had hope in that moment, smiling and nodding, before bursting into laughter, throwing his head back. When he stopped, he reached up to your face, hand cupping your cheek gently , before gripping your chin to hold you in place.

"Of course not."

He rose, grabbing something off the counter, just out of view--You held back a scream as you recognized it; it was an exact copy of the device Ren had around his neck. Strade smiled lovingly, clicking it open and snapping it shut around your neck without a second of hesitation. Vainly you tried to look down and see it, but to no avail.

"It's a collar!" Strade sang, stepping back, holding his hands up as if to frame you. "Don't worry, it looks _great_ on you!" He let go, and it hung heavy against your collarbone and the back of your neck. Silenced in fear, you looked up at him, just as he leaned in close, almost nuzzling the side of your head as he spoke. Strade's voice was quiet and serious.

"It's electric. I probably wouldn't try to step outside." He leaned back and clapped his hands together with a grin. "I made it myself!" A wistful sigh passed his lips, and he cocked his head to the side. 

 

" **We're gonna have so much fun together** ~!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your patience~! I'm happy to say the next three chapters are almost done, so now the fun part will really start! Also, I live for comments, and while Kudos are neat, I'd love to hear what ya'll like or think about the story!
> 
> Also, as always, I'll be posting bits and bobs to my tumblr boyfriendedtodeath2.tumblr.com for wips, sneak peeks, and art from the story!


	5. Chapter Four--Upheaval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We begin our foray into life at Strade's house, as well as dip into some of what you had been up to! Will you manage to keep out of trouble long enough to stay alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting~ This is the first chapter of non-game canonical work! I hope you all like it! This is also the last chapter before non-game gore/horror/actions, so I will be listing all warnings in the note before the chapter. Thank you all for waiting, and I'll see you at the end notes! <3

You stopped counting the days, finally.

The kitchen was filled with the gentle sounds of dishes clinking and water running. Reaching up to itch your nose, you took care not to let any water on your hands drip on your collar, before finishing off rinsing a plate and handing it to Ren, who was on a stool beside you.

The sun was streaming through the window just above the sink, and you glanced momentarily outside at the uniformly cookie-cutter suburban neighborhood that was framed by stark white painted wood mouldings. You and Ren–who had become someone you had learned to trust, and eventually be comfortable around–had spent the better part of the day cleaning the house. You both had busied yourselves with cleaning your rooms, (in particular, yours was much easier, as you had very few things in your room. Often you had thought it looked like a room in a dollhouse: filled with needed items, all of a nicer quality, but no real personality to speak of), before moving to vacuum the hallways and living room.

The last item on the list was washing the dishes, and cleaning the kitchen. Specifically, the list that Strade always left on the fridge under a magnet that advertized a local hardware store. While in any other situation, you would lament having a day dedicated to chores, days where you woke to it hanging were days you felt comfortable leaving your room and joining Ren, who seemed to mostly share the sentiment, as they were always days Strade would be gone for hours on end.

This was your life now; idle chores with your new ‘roommate’. How long had it been now, since the night Strade deemed you the newest member of the “family”? A month? Two months? You knew you couldn’t ask. Not for fear of punishment, but the fear of letting yourself know how many days your world was on its head, how many weeks it took for people to forget, to declare you dead, to move on. It would drive you crazy. It was hard enough with the night terrors you experienced, almost every night, waking with a short shriek to see your sterile but comfortable room.

Nights like last night.

\--

_You woke, drenched in sweat, sobbing incoherently, when you felt someone touch your shoulder. Ren was there, bleary-eyed in his sleep clothes, cooing softly. His motions were slow and gentle, and you blinked away the image of Strade from your dream–covered in your blood, cackling, watching you die–and tried to stifle your cries._

_**“It’s okay, you’re okay…I had those too, at first.”** Ren murmured, his ears flattened almost imperceptibly in the sleep-mussed thicket of his hair. He reached around you, pulling the blanket up around you again, giving you a small encouraging smile. **“They go away, mostly.”**_

_Hopeless, you let out another small sob as guided you to lay back down, all the while still making reassuring hums and murmurs. It was strange, and new–the two of you talked when Strade wasn’t around, and you knew you could trust him, though this was the first time you think he’s touched you without it being out of necessity–but his hands were gentle on your shoulder, and you were so tired…_

_**“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, if you want me to.”** _

_The offer was heartbreakingly kind, and in the back of your mind, you wondered if he had longed for this when he was first brought here. Wordlessly, you nodded, and he pulled his legs up on the bed beside you, moving his hand to lay on your forehead. Ren ran his fingers through your hair, and you slowly relaxed into the feeling of it, and the sound of his humming, and the warmth of him sitting beside you, and you were sinking…slowly…to sleep…_

\--

A small chuckle ripped you out from your memories, followed by a loud clattering as the bowl you were holding dropped back into the sink. Ren yelped in surprise, and you spun to see Strade leaning casually against the doorframe into the kitchen, eyeing you in the way you learned quickly meant he was getting restless again.

“Good afternoon!” Ren was chipper, tone sounding just a little too forced. The rule with Ren was if you could notice his distress, there was no damned way Strade couldn’t. That never led to anything good.

He pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder, stalking towards the two of you. He crossed the span of the kitchen in several strides, each step deliberate. Strade tilted his head back, his smile showing teeth up to the gum on one side, as he reached out towards you both. Neither you nor Ren could react, you were both in your own ways trained that resistance wasn’t going to help. All the while, Strade kept his eyes on you.

“I’m so happy to see you two getting along! You’re like old pals!” A large hand landed on both yours and Ren’s shoulders as Strade towered over the two of you with a benign grin. “See?” His comment was leveled at you, his eyes twinkling with something more malevolent. “I told ya that you’d fit right in!”

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, and you must have responded with some affirmative without thinking, because Strade released the two of you, planting his hands on his hips.

“You know what this means? I think a movie night is in order!”

Ren relaxed a little at your side, and you remembered him telling you that ‘family nights’ could be some of the safer nights; the usually happened directly or within a few days of him _dealing_ with any new guest he may have brought home. This was better news than you had been expecting, and you did your best to slowly let the tension in your shoulders drop away without being too obvious about it.

“Ren, why don’t you go into the living room and set up? I’ll even let you pick the movie this time!” Something churned in your gut as Strade took the towel from Ren’s hands deftly.

“Oh! Uh, sure, okay!” Obviously wanting to say more but unable, Ren threw you a sympathetic around Strade’s side as he quickly padded out of the room and around the corner.

At once, the kitchen felt too small, too warm. With Strade there, still smiling, _he was always smiling like that in your dreams_ , nudging the stool towards you, and motioning towards it sharply with his chin when you didn’t immediately move.

“I’m sure you’d want to get off your foot, ja?”

You bit your lip. It had taken so long for the gaping wound to heal up, a mounded scar mangling the landscape of your foot where he had ripped through you with a drill the first nights he had kept you hidden below the house. After he had decided you weren’t going to die so soon, you were brought upstairs and placed in what is now your room. Within the week, you were feverish, delirious, and Strade had a doctor come to the house to inspect you.

\--

_Even in your state, you knew the man sitting before you wasn’t going to be anyone you could trust, let alone one who would help you escape. You felt as if your body was on fire, foot the source of the heat that seemed to be consuming everything. There was a strange rattling noise in your chest as you coughed, phlemey and wet, like a broken child’s toy. It took all the energy you had to keep your eyes open, and reopen them after blinking away the dryness in the air._

_There was no fanfare when he stripped you bare of the shirt Ren had provided you on your first day above, tugging down the boxers as well to leave you bare. A singular grey eye examined you with the cutting gaze of a physician, behind a pair of slim glasses and above a long-healed scar that stretched across his nose and cheeks. As his hands ghosted over the remains of your bruises and the cuts not deemed worthy of stitches, you absently wondered if there was a reason he wore his hair longer in the front of one eye. Regardless, his gloved hands were cool, and you let yourself lean into that comfort to try and distract yourself._

_The door opened with a quiet click, just when your eyes fluttered shut again._

_“You really know how to mess them up, don’t you? So rough with your little ones.” The doctor’s voice was cool, and low, soothing as you listened. “It looks like you shot straight through it…How many days has it been?” Something brushed your foot, and you clenched your jaw with a weak hiss._

_“Scheisse, four days? Maybe five.” Strade’s voice was hoarse, and you could vaguely hear pacing. “And it was a drill.” His comment sounded like an afterthought, but you felt like he seemed…offended? It was such a strange thing to think of, a killer being protective of his methods, but you coughed again, and your thoughts scattered like papers in the wind._

_“I can take care of most of the external problems, but you’ll have to make sure that this medicine is taken three times a day, with food. Preferably real food, not what I know you feed the ones you don’t keep, or else I’ll have to be back.” There was a strange crackling noise. “And I told you many times, I’m not on call for things like this.”_

_You heard Strade snort, before letting out a bark of a laugh. There was the sound of rattling, something tinny? Perhaps plastic?_

_“I can let them die, and you can leave…Or you can hurry up, so you can get gone faster.” Strade’s tone was blunt, stripped of humor. “Either way, I have things to do. Figure it out.”_

_A few heavy footfalls and the door clicking shut again, and you knew you were alone once more with the strange doctor. Your eyes cracked open to see him looming over you, a needle in hand. There was barely enough time to yelp as it sunk into your neck._

_“I can’t have you moving for this part.” He intoned, pushing the plunger down with a steady and merciless thumb. **“I’m sure you’d understand**.” The area the needle had pierced burned worse than your foot, and you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the low rumble of a groan in your chest. What little energy you had left seeped from you in waves, heartbeat faint and fluttering. A panicked, distant voice in your head was screaming, and as you heard the strangest chanting, the other side of you wondered if this was the last time you’d close your eyes._

_They weren’t._

\--

A shark kick knocked your leg out from under you, and with a yelp, you crumpled to the cold tile, landing awkwardly on your side.

“What’s wrong, mein liebling?” He descended on you, faster than you could have anticipated, knees on either side of your rips. There was something sparking in his amber eyes; hot, intense, and primal as he stared down at you. Recognizing your mistake, you opened your mouth to apologize, but Strade shoved the towel he was holding to gag you, both hands pulling it down until his fists were on the floor. Pain shot through you as you tried to struggle, eyes wild and wheeling around.

“I thought we were doing so good…Maybe I just don’t know you that well, after all we've been through?” He tutted while you tried to shake your head. “Eine schande. You know, I feel like we have time before the movie, don’t we?”

The question wasn’t spoken to you, and your heart stopped as you heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Um, uh…Y-yes?” Ren’s voice was trembling, and if you strained, you could see him in the doorway, eyes wide with fear, looking from Strade to your face. “U-uh, it’s all set up s-o, s-o it can start when we’re all, uh, ready.”

“Good!” Strade pulled back his hands, ripping the impromptu gag from your mouth. “Ren, go to your room until it’s time, then.”

Any hope of help fled as fast as Ren did, tail disappearing around the corner. You wanted to scream, to run, and you knew that nothing would save you from what would come next. 

 

**[STRUGGLE]  
[DON'T RESIST]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially where we start moving forward with the "Choose Your Own Adventure" portion of the fic! Each chapter after this will have two to four options (like in-game), and you can go to the response in the chapter index to continue fleshing out the story in a way you want to see! (For example, if you choose the option "RUN", you would simply find that chapter in the index, and keep on reading!) Some story paths will interact, and I hope to have at least six or so endings for everyone! If there is any situation or idea you'd like to see, feel free to comment below, or send an ask to my tumblr at boyfriendedtodeath2.tumblr.com~ 
> 
> Also, all chapters will now be uploaded at the same time for ease of reading, and as such, there may be some delays in getting the groups of chapters out. Please be kind while I make sure this story is something worth waiting for! 
> 
> Delta <3


	6. [STRUGGLE]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You couldn't help it.

**[STRUGGLE]**

Against your better judgement, the second he pulled the gag from your mouth you were already begging and squirming beneath the man.

"Please, no, I'm sorry, I'll do anything-" He grabs your arms as you futilely try to push him away, hands already pressing bruises into your forearms as he grins maniacally. As if picking up a tantruming child, Strade hurls you to your feet, twisting your arms painfully behind your back, shoving you in front of him as he marches you out of the kitchen. You keep screaming--for him to stop, for Ren to help, for this to end--before Strade loses his patience with your struggling and slams your head into the metal door to the basement with a resounding clang.

-

The scene you woke to was as familiar as the nightmares you had--mainly because it's the very reason you had nightmares to begin with.  
Strade was standing before you, leaning casually against the tool counter, eyes light with mirth as he watched you try to hide your growing panic. Your arms were, as you suspected, tied behind your back. However, you were still in the clothes you were wearing in the kitchen, something you hadn't expected.

"No more screams, liebling?" Strade tilted his head. 

You turn your head, biting down on your lip. It was a mistake earlier, one you weren't keen on repeating. 

Strade, however, had other plans.

He crossed the area between you two in several strides, dropping down to your level on his knees. Before you could react fully, he slammed a knife into your thigh, burying it up to the thin hilt. You managed a sharp intake of breath before a howling scream ripped itself out of your chest.

"See? You need to learn the right time to scream. I'll help!" You could barely make out the look of crazed joy on his face as he twisted the knife sharply, pulling another wretched noise from you. "Like now! Now would be the appropriate time to scream!" Blood already swelling up and over the curve of your thigh, you squirmed uselessly as Strade sat on your legs, knees bending almost backwards under his weight as he ripped the knife from your flesh with a sickening tearing noise. 

Leaning back to inspect his handiwork, Strade put a hand on his chin, the picture of an art critic admiring some fine work or painting. He almost looked like he was waiting for something...

**[SCREAM]  
[STAY SILENT]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short one, but that's the woe of having things run by choice now. I'll try to be more on top of chapters, now that i've carved out how I want the endings to go ;) If you want to request an ending theme, feel free to comment below or send an ask to boyfriendedtodeath2.tumblr.com!


	7. [DON'T RESIST]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hoped listening and following orders would keep you alive...Let's see how right you are.

**[DON'T RESIST]**

 

You knew what was coming next, and as much as your brain was screaming for you to run, fight, _anything_ , but when Strade rose and held a hand out to you, there was barely any hesitation before you placed your smaller hand in his. 

"Good choice!" Strade's praise fell on ears deafened by fear as he gingerly pulled you up from the floor. His eyes were hungry, shadowed by the hair falling in his face, sparking the same instinctual fear of a mouse staring a hungry cat in the face while cornered. "I think you know where we're going, _ja_?"

You wanted to look away, to scream, to cry, but instead you wordlessly began the short walk to the door to the basement. A low chuckle and the sound of boots indicated Strade was following closer behind than you liked, but didn't want to react and waste your last taste of freedom of movement in what could be your last. 

The handle was cold under your fingers, hinges unoiled and slightly squeaky as you struggled to open it, and you let out an accidental gasp as you felt Strade press flush against your back, his hand cupping round yours and opening it fully. Stepping out of the way to open the door, you were greeted with the sight of those stairs, the bottom step hidden in darkness as the light streamed past your shoulders, shadows grotesque caricatures on the stairwell. A cold breeze drafted up, making the hairs on your arms prickle and a shiver shoot down your spine.

A small nudge in the small of your back prompted your feet to move, each step fearful and reluctant in its descent. 

After what felt like a decade you were there again. 

The sharp smell of copper hit your nose, and you realized that someone had been down there earlier today, stomach churning as the light was flicked on. You can't panic now, you had to stay strong, stay together. You survived this once, you can do it again, right? The sight of a reddish brown stain caught your eye, and your stomach flipped as you noticed how the light played on the surface...It was blood. 

"You remember how to do this, right?"

Strade's voice cut through your panic, and you slowly turned to face him, shoulders pulled up to your ears as he just kept grinning. His amber eyes flashed down to you clothes, and back up to your own eyes, and you felt the last vestiges of a warning in the now lopsided curve of his lips. 

Of course.

Breathing as evenly as you could, your hands found the hem of the mildly oversized shirt you wore, working it up and over your shoulders as quickly as possible, before reaching down to wiggle out of the provided boxers that consisted of your wardrobe for the last however long you were here. Strade's eyes were almost glowing as he watched you discard the bits of clothing as his feet, almost as if a god watching a poor soul come to pray at his temple, setting offerings before him.

Cool air hit your skin, bringing back the visceral memories of your first time in the basement to the forefront of your mind once more, hands instinctively pulling up to cover yourself.

Strade moved closer, a hand gripping your chin as he looked at you, sizing you up.

"You're being so good! This is already progress, isn't it?" He took a deep breath, savoring the seconds you resisted pulling away, eyes wide and nostrils flared. "Now--"

Before you could react, he punched you in the jaw, sending you sprawling on the hard concrete, landing awkwardly on your elbow. Your shriek of surprise echoed for a moment, mocking you.

"Time to have a little fun." The knife in his hand reflected the light, and you could remember the feeling of it against your skin, splitting you open. You clutched your jaw with a whimper, dreading what was to come.

**[RUN]  
** **[FIGHT BACK]  
**[STAY STILL]****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short one, but that's the woe of having things run by choice now. I'll try to be more on top of chapters, now that i've carved out how I want the endings to go ;) If you want to request an ending theme, feel free to comment below or send an ask to boyfriendedtodeath2.tumblr.com!


End file.
